


Contuse

by otapocalypse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Aftercare, Alien Tongue, Bruises, Established Relationship, Everything is consensual, F/M, Fighting Kink, Foot Fetish, Furry, Impact Play, Masochism, Painplay, Physical hurt/comfort, Sadism, Slight Emeto if you squint, Smut, Some Fluff, Sparring, They're both trans deal with it, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, Tribadism, Whump, slight blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 17:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13862145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otapocalypse/pseuds/otapocalypse
Summary: Olia finds Matt's combat skills to be lacking, and so decides to teach him a lesson





	Contuse

**Author's Note:**

> This is so self indulgent and I don't care

“Matt.”

The call came in the midst of a high-focus, very important coding session, and if it were anyone else, Matt would have told them to piss off. This voice however, he listened to. He had long since learned the consequences of pissing off Rebel Captain Olia, space explorer extraordinaire. He tugged his headset free, and turned in his chair, meeting her dark eyes.

“Yeah, Chief?” He answered jokingly, pairing the words with a cheeky grin. From his place at the dash, he could easily see her shoulders rise and fall as she sighed, her stance wide though she stood across the room, far from any who could ever do her harm.

“Come with me.” She ordered firmly, and turned briskly without another word. Matt watched as she padded quickly away, down the hallway, and heading for the training room. Uncertain, he stood, and immediately furrowed his brow as his fellow rebels started up an obnoxious cacophony.

“ _Ooooooooooh!_ ” Came the chorus.

“ _Shut it!_ ” Olia’s bark came ringing back down the hallway, and Matt wanted to echo that sentiment, grateful for her interruption. All quieted in the wake of her potential wrath, and he followed quickly down the hallway, and he shot a quick,

“Immature nymphs,” back at his comrades as the door to the hull shut behind him, and he jogged to catch up with Olia, his staff jostling between his shoulder blades as he did. She had stopped to wait for him, and now turned to begin walking again, her bare feet silent against the tile floor. “So… what is this about?” Matt asked, as they reached the room- the floor was padded here, and several weapons racks stood against the far wall.

Without warning, Olia stopped, and Matt passed her, starting to turn in confusion as the doors shut behind them. There was an immediate blow to his back, just below his neck, and as he doubled over, he felt the staff ripped from its sheath. He watched as his weapon spun through the air, as if in slow motion, and clattered down on the other side of the room. He braced for another impact, but when there was none, he slowly straightened again, feeling a bruise starting to blossom.

“What was that f-”

“While you are incredibly skilled at using a weapon, your hand-to-hand combat is seriously lacking.” Olia muttered back calmly, immediately dropping into a fighting crouch. Her hands raised, though not making fists, they were curled loosely, and out in front of her, protecting her face. Matt could still see the gleam in her eyes, however, and felt a chill go down his spine.  
“So we are going to practice that. If you are up for it?” She continued, and he could see the glint in those eyes, the slight tilt of her head, that hinted at something much more than just a simple training session. He quickly mimed her pose, dropping into a crouch of his own.

“Yes, Captain.” She nodded.

“You remember your safe word?”

“I do,” he answered, already beginning to feel a sweat come on.

“Good. Then let’s begin. When you are ready, attack me. Try to immobilize me.”

Matt nodded, taking a breath. That wasn’t so monumental a task, right? No, he decided. It wasn’t. He tensed, readying himself for the rush and impact, before shoving off with his leg, dashing for her and aiming an open-handed strike at her side. One second, she was there, the next, gone. Matt hesitated in confusion, before he tripped over something, a second blow on his back sending him careening forward.

He rolled, coming to his feet again easily, but the ache in his back was spreading, and Olia was already rushing at him once more, a blur in his vision. Matt managed to dodge aside just in time, avoiding her claws, but her feet were a different story, and he let out a grunt as he was kicked aside, his ribs screaming in protest.

He struggled to his feet once more, and the two of them clashed, a whirling, deadly dance as Olia went on the defensive, easily dodging or deflecting each of Matt’s blows and allowing him to advance, while still dealing out damage left and right. None of her blows were as powerful as the first now, all meant as distractions; a tap here, a cuff on the ear there. He had nearly backed her up to the far wall, feeling confident in himself, before her leg shot forward, and he was swept off his feet, hitting the ground hard.

Matt groaned, opening his eyes in time to see a tightly curled fist headed straight for him. He ducked out of the way just in time, leaving Olia to strike the ground, and aimed a half-hearted punch at her side again, if only to get her off of him. On his feet again, each circled the other.

“You are holding back.” Olia observed. She had hardly broken a sweat, while Matt already felt exhausted and overheated, his stance sloppy as he tried to keep his guard up. “Use more power, more speed. Aim for weak spots rather than my torso; you will not get anywhere that way.”

“I don’t want to hurt you. This is just a sparring-”

A punch, aimed at his face, and Matt quickly brought both hands up, catching the force fully on his wrists and feeling it jarr alarmingly through him, the feeling seeming to travel up along his arm, clacking his teeth together painfully. Another punch caught him in the chin this time, his head snapping back, and he stumbled a few steps, dizzy, as he forced his hands to remain up and his eyes to focus on Olia.

“I am the enemy.” She growled, advancing. “Never be soft on the enemy.”

Matt tasted copper, and something warm trickled over his lip; blood. His tongue darted out to taste it- lots of it, he gauged, before Olia reached him, and he felt strong hands grip him, tossing him down onto the floor. Dazed, he could do nothing as her foot crashed down onto his temple, temporarily blinding him. He was stuck, frozen by that one point of contact. Cruelly, she leaned forward, putting more of her weight onto that foot.

As the pressure in his head increased, Matt let out a pained groan. It grew stronger, and stronger, until he could feel the press of the pads on her feet and the nick of her claws. Her soft growl in his ear came next, effectively rendering him motionless.

“You seem to forget which of us is stronger. I can make you so, but you must listen to my advice. Cast aside your confidence, let go of your fear of hurting me, I assure you that will not happen.” She said darkly. The pressure in his skull reached an all-time high, bringing tears to the corners of Matt’s eye, before it vanished, and he watched through watery vision as she backed off, taking a defensive stance again. “Now, _fight!_ ” She barked, a clear order, and Matt forced himself to his feet once again. Growling in quite the same way, he lunged once more.

She side-stepped out of his way again, but he had learned that trick. Matt turned, aiming a strike at her jaw, not noticing the hand that shot out to grab his uniform until it was too late. He was yanked to the side, almost whirling as he nearly tripped over his own feet. Olia used the momentum to follow through, flinging him hard against a wall, and he crashed against it just as roughly, the bruising force overwhelming as he smacked his head against it as well, and was rather regrettably reminded that the walls were not padded as the floor. Powerful claws gripped his shoulder, slamming him back into his unyielding confines yet again. Matt let his head lull before looking up, panting, squinting as the light pierced his aching skull.

He tensed, breath hitching, as his captor leaned forward, her tongue darting out to pass over the blood running from his lip. A shudder went through him, not entirely terrible, as Olia pulled back, expressionless other than a slight snarl. 

“You aren’t wearing a codpiece.” She growled softly. Matt looked up at her, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Why would I need to-” He let out a shout as she fiercely brought her knee up, straight into his groin, as if aiming for his very core. As he doubled over, she dropped her elbow straight into him, overkill, if you asked Matt. She let him go, and Matt crumpled, falling to his knees and choking out several strained curses. 

“That is why.”

The pain was instantaneous, all-encompassing, and it went straight to his head, then to the rest of his body as he shook and convulsed, retching dryly as he remained on his hands and knees, tears once more pricking at his eyes. There was nothing in his stomach to bring up, though the sharp ache, nausea, and flood of uncomfortable heat all seemed intent on working together to make him heave. After the third such gag, he felt a gentle touch between his shoulders, so gentle as in contrast to the rough treatment that he couldn’t help but arch into it, despite his body’s protests. Olia’s voice, much softer and warmer in his ear now, came next.

“Do you need to use your safeword?”

Matt took a few more deep breaths, trying to calm the pain and adrenaline coursing through his body, and felt the agony fade just a bit. Coughing, blood and saliva spattering to the floor, he shook his head, and there was a pause, during which he simply rested there, slowly lowering his feverish face to the cold floor, remaining on his hands and knees, feeling the ache and the soft, warm tingling wherever Olia caressed. Finally, she stood, and Matt took a deep breath as she growled her next order.

“ _Stand_.”

He forced himself up without hesitation, nearly heaving again as he did, and was immediately pinned to the wall once more. This time, however, her approach was different, and Matt hissed as Olia gripped a handful of his hair, yanking his head back and exposing the expanse of his throat. Below, he felt one of her legs slot between his own, and groaned softly as a long, hot tongue traced along the bulging vein in his neck.

The pleasure was gone in a moment as she grinded her knee up into him, and he cried out, voice breaking as the treatment reawakened the pain in his groin, and it hooked sharply in his gut again, spreading mercilessly throughout the rest of him. Despite himself, a burst of warmth down below kept him gasping, the sound ragged with soreness it caused just to grind back, his hips stuttering forward unsteadily. Tears finally did spill over his face, but he was unable to stop himself as the sparks of pain blended with the waves of pleasure.

All the while, Olia kept up over movements, her tongue continuing its path up over his jawline, collecting the blood pouring from his lip again, before forcing its way deep into his mouth, lapping at the roof and exploring the farthest reaches, muffling his cries as he wound tighter, tasting his own blood on her tongue and feeling a sudden flood of heat roll through him, making his head spin.

Matt’s thighs shook as his release came, the feeling spilling through him and replacing the ache with a soft flush of warmth that left his skin singing, and his throat raw from the force of his shout. Luckily, Olia hadn’t stopped her assault on his throat, only withdrawing her long tongue as he grew quiet, trembling quietly. Matt was sure if she were to let him go, he would be unable to stand on his own. Relief washed over him as she stayed close, keeping him on his feet for the time being, and Matt saw the warmth in her eyes as she lightly released the grip on his hair, reaching instead to trace a claw over the scar on his cheek. He leaned into the touch, and the two of them remained frozen again for a short time, sharing both body heat and contact.

Olia pulled away again all too soon, and Matt watched in dazzled dismay as she dropped low once more.

“How much longer are you going to subject me to this?” He wheezed, not entirely opposed to going until he dropped.

“Until you tire me out.” She nearly purred back, and the depth of her voice rejuvenated him, his second wind flowing through him like a breath of fresh air, and leading him to lunge at her again, this time quick enough to catch her off guard. They danced yet again, exchanging blows, and Matt struck quickly and powerfully, despite the burn in his thighs and the ache just about everywhere else. He received a thump to the gut during the fray, which nearly undid him as he heaved again, but somehow Matt managed to stay on his feet, blocking the flurry of attacks that came after.

Eventually, his luck ran out, as did his energy, and the world spun around him as Olia suddenly flattened him to the ground, her knee digging painfully into his lower back as he lay on his stomach. The blows had stopped, however, and past the ringing in his ears Matt could hear the faint, raspy sound of Olia’s panting, coupled with a soft growl. The silence stretched on, each heaving, before Olia pushed off of the ground, letting out a sigh.

“We’re done here.” She explained to Matt’s confused look, as she offered a hand. He gripped it tightly, allowing himself to be hauled to his feet, and swaying once he was there. Olia kept a firm, steadying grip on his shoulder until she seemed sure he would not keel over, and then slid her palm down his arm, grasping his hand in hers and beginning to lead him out of the room, towards the medbay.

“We’ll retrieve your staff later.” She said softly. “First I’m tending to those wounds of yours.” Matt licked over his bloody lip again thoughtfully.

“They aren’t wounds. It’s not like you really broke the skin.”

“Nevertheless. We can’t have you in pain if we are called to a true fight soon.” They reached the doors to the medbay, and Olia quickly keyed in a code with her free hand, still leading the other along as she padded inside. It wasn’t long before she had him on an examination table- there were fewer pods than the castle here, Matt knew, and they were only used for emergencies. Besides, they took away most of the pain, and he couldn’t say he wasn’t entirely opposed to feeling it. He held carefully still as Olia sponged away the blood on his lip with a warm, damp cloth, her touch as gentle now as it had been rough before. She then checked over his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, satisfied when she found no other sources of bleeding, before stepping back.

“Alright, come on. Strip.” She ordered, though not unkindly.

Matt obediently peeled off his uniform, grimacing as it clung to his skin, leaving behind a light sheen that soon had him chilled to the bone. Several bruises were blossoming along his body, painting his skin black and blue, and a twisted, shiny scar wrapped around his left knee. Olia ignored these, choosing instead to focus on his back. Deep red and violet spread over his spine, the veins there showing slightly, and she tsked, shaking her head as she lightly pressed a cold pack over the area, much to Matt’s dissent.

“Hey- I did pretty well, and you punish me this way?” He joked lightly, trying to remain still as her warm palm glided after the pack, soothing the iciness on his skin, and he had to suppress a shudder. Still, he felt a sort of warmth rise in his chest as she spoke, the smile evident in her voice.

“You’re improving, I’ll say that.” Matt chuckled a bit, and allowed his muscles to relax, just slightly.

“Thank you, Chief.”


End file.
